After getting off the dock, the scenery was completely different from what I had always seen in the Eastern Region.
The way people spoke, the food they ate, and the outfits of adventurers and mages all stood out.
“Master, didn’t you say this is your second time coming to the Western Region?”
“Yeah, it’s been quite a long time.”
Bi-Wol clung to my side, watching everything around her with a sense of wonder.
In her hands, she was carrying an armful of desserts, especially seeming to like the fruit tart made with green grapes.
“Then why didn’t you tell me about these delicious things, Master?”
Bi-Wol spoke with her cheeks stuffed full of food, making a slightly muffled sound that was endearingly cute.
“I’m sorry. It’s not easy to find ingredients in the East, so I thought it might only upset you.”
When I was writing the novel King of Diamond Fist, I had mentioned that the Heavenly Demon Bi-Wol developed a fondness for sweet foods due to consuming human flesh and blood in her childhood.
Reflecting that, the real Bi-Wol also loved sweet and spicy foods, like candied hawthorn and dumplings loaded with spices.
“…I can happily eat anything Master gives me. Even savory rice cakes made with glutinous rice would taste sweet like mahua with your affection added.”
When I spoke as if I was blaming myself, Bi-Wol replied in a waning voice, realizing she might have made an unreasonable request.
It hadn’t been easy for her during the boat ride to this place, as she had suffered from seasickness. I had comforted her as she continuously threw up, anxious.
The reason I bought her a lot of sweet food now was that I didn’t want my disciple Bi-Wol to have a bad memory of her first trip.
Just like when I first saw the sea in Busan, I hoped she would love the ocean someday.
“So please don’t blame yourself so much. I will grow taller than you someday, Master.”
Bi-Wol puffed her cheeks while looking up at me, measuring her height against mine with her hands.
“I hope so.”
I imagined how Bi-Wol would be when she achieved greatness. She would be like a well-honed sharp sword, just as described in the latter part of my web novel I Must Kill the Hero.
The desire to confirm the ending of the story I wrote was stronger than anything else, but…
Would I still be alive by then?
Every day felt like someone was shoveling dirt on my head, and the feeling that life was gradually fading away was just like that.
“You will definitely see it.”
“Yeah, I’m looking forward to it.”
I had no choice but to tell Bi-Wol a little lie. I didn’t want to be sad in advance, so I forced a smile.
*
Bi-Wol, Wolfram, and I rode in a carriage after we got off at the harbor. During the ride, I cross-verified the information that I knew with her.
“The hero’s name is Verdandi Astraya. I heard she was originally the daughter of a farmer in a rural area.”
“What’s the name of the village she’s from?”
“Wonderhill. They say the name comes from a miracle that happened when rain fell during a severe drought in the village.”
So far, this matched the setting I had created.
When I came alone to the Western Region, I couldn’t find Verdandi no matter what tricks I used, so I would need Wolfram’s help to meet her.
“Does she have the holy sword or holy armor?”
“I don’t know. She just received a divine oracle, so I doubt she has those.”
Those were the two secret weapons that Verdandi had in the original work I Must Kill the Hero, which she used when fighting against the protagonist.
I thought it would be fun to level up the final boss, so I made Verdandi grow alongside the protagonist from the start.
“One is a weapon that allows her to deal tremendous damage, and the other is armor that makes her impervious to harm.”
That was also the reason I brought Bi-Wol here. If we couldn’t even communicate with Verdandi, fighting would be unavoidable.
Using one enemy to defeat another, I even had a plan in my head to take down the final boss.
“Bi-Wol, if a new junior disciple comes to kill me, do you think you could subdue her without killing her?”
“…That seems difficult. How can I subdue someone who tries to harm you, Master, without killing them?”
I looked down at Bi-Wol, who was mumbling to herself. I could understand why she found my words incomprehensible.
It must really bother her that someone new would suddenly come in trying to kill me.
“That girl is a poor soul who can’t trust people. She views the world in black and white and doesn’t understand the feelings of love and hate.”
I gently stroked Bi-Wol’s head as I spoke.
At this point, I started to question whether she was my disciple or just a puppy, but she moved her head to make it easier for my hand to move.
“If you could only see that humans are contradictory and complex beings. Like a finely honed blade, they can inflict wounds….”
“…but they can also protect. Just like how you saved me, Master.”
Bi-Wol smiled bashfully, showing she didn’t dislike my touch. Seeing her like this made me understand why fathers become doting on their daughters.
“Do you know the new hero?”
“Of course, I do.”
I was the creator of Verdandi, Bi-Wol, and Azazel. I brought them into existence with words from a blank slate.
Given Wolfram’s persistent doubts about my identity, I decided not to lie.
“I also received a divine oracle. I was told to accept the hero as my disciple and heal her madness.”
Mixing truth and lies is often easier to earn trust than mere truth.
“Is that why you came all the way to this distant Western Region? That’s interesting. I thought people from the East didn’t believe in gods.”
“In fact, I prefer people who try to change themselves rather than relying on divine intervention.”
I had given up my dream of being a writer and lived as a math instructor, meeting many students along the way.
Half of them would delay studying, saying they’d start tomorrow, and another half just said they would work hard.
Among those, a good portion claimed they couldn’t study because their family situation was bad and their parents wouldn’t help.
“If you lack strength, you should first build your body; if you lack talent, you should put in the effort. Honest people blame themselves rather than the heavens.”
However, among those remaining, there were students who wanted to change.
“Anyone can make excuses, but not everyone can put in the effort or have the determination.”
I had a student who worked out every morning to avoid dozing off at his desk, and another who, not ashamed of being poor, honestly told his homeroom teacher about his situation to receive support.
“I like imperfect people with flaws. After all, there’s no such thing as a perfect human.”
Seeing such students often reassured me that my life wasn’t a mistake.
Though I was a coward running away from my dreams of being a writer, it seemed I had become a proper teacher. I felt happy that failed experiences didn’t lead to another failure.
“…Master, do you like me too, then?”
“There’s no master in this world who dislikes their disciples. I think the best thing I’ve done in my life is saving you.”
I looked at Bi-Wol, giving her a gentle smile. I was glad I saved her, even if it took a toll on my body.
“Watch out for yourself in the future. You might end up greatly manipulating people’s hearts without even realizing it.”
Seeing this, Wolfram crossed her arms as if annoyed. Her toes kept tapping, as if she had something to say but was holding back.
“I’ve heard stories about how well you talk.”
“No, that’s not what I meant… Ugh, it’s so frustrating! You’re not entirely clueless, yet you’re not aware either; it’s all so ambiguous!”
Wolfram ruffled her golden hair in irritation. She glared at me as if she was truly upset.
“You better watch out! You might end up getting tormented by your junior disciples! I definitely warned you!”
“Sure, I’ll keep that in mind deeply.”
Could our sweet and cute Bi-Wol really kill me? I raised my lips slightly in a mocking grin.
“Anyway, if you want to take the hero as your disciple, shouldn’t there be some kind of offering to me? After all, I guided you to this village!”
“……”
Is saving my life not enough?
I couldn’t understand Wolfram’s behavior or way of thinking. It was like “the characters are living beyond the author’s intentions.”
To request something from the person who created all their settings and backstory was just odd.
“How much do you want?”
Oddly enough, I welcomed this.
Such irregularities were always welcome. In fact, sometimes it’s better to follow the characters rather than the plot when writing.
“300 Aslan gold coins.”
“What a ridiculous proposal. Can you lower it?”
Wolfram’s eyes sparkled, and I almost imagined I could hear her brain whirring as she was calculating.
“Ha! You dare to bargain with me, the Gold Tower Master?”
She was a born negotiator, possessing more knowledge than anyone when it came to money matters and comparing people’s values with wealth.
“You want to negotiate because you are the ‘Golden Sage’. You can turn the stones rolling on the street into gold, so why do you still want gold coins?”
“My gold isn’t ‘real’.”
In reality, the gold Wolfram created wasn’t pure gold.
The gold made from stones wouldn’t leave a mark even when bitten, being a fake with lots of impurities.
“Isn’t a fake that wishes to be real always cool?”
In my novel, all mages were depicted as being somewhat mad.
Among them, Wolfram dreamed of “perfection.”
“Then, instead, you should provide better information.”
“Is there really information more useful than 300 gold coins?”
Knowing her nature, I brought up another option—information only I, the creator of this world, knew.
“…The Philosopher’s Stone. Don’t you want to know where it is?”
I knew where the legendary stone that could turn lead or other metals into gold was located.
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